


Undisclosed Desires

by pureleaf



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Demon Sebastian Michaelis, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Claude Faustus/Ciel Phantomhive, Past Abuse, Tags May Change, Trauma, no more tags for now bc i hate spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 14:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pureleaf/pseuds/pureleaf
Summary: "I heard a demon beckon for me, I reluctantly answered his call. Like a siren promising to fulfill desires, I showed up battered and hopeless. He took one look at me, reached into my chest, and told me I would be okay. His lips, full of rows upon rows of razor sharp canines, kissed my knuckles the way Claude’s would rip open my bones. A bellow in the chasm, a deafening silence, and a body of embers and death surrounded me. He told me he could help."





	Undisclosed Desires

**Author's Note:**

> Hi readers! This story includes topics like emotional and physical abuse, and in absolutely no way was this meant to be romanticized. Please do not read if this topic harms/upsets you! If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic abuse, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1−800−799−7233 or TTY 1−800−787−3224

Everyone wanted me to see that we could not bloom, so gouge out my eyes. Alois scolded me for giving him my number, saying how he was _ bad news. _ Finny almost convinced me that he had been to jail. Bard clenched the handle of his knife the first time he came to pick me up from our apartment, shooting daggers behind my back at the tall man. Lizzy’s face paled when I told her we were going out now, that we were making it official. I impelled myself that I was so happy, we were so happy. Claude was everything to me. 

The first time he put his hands on me was only to tug me by the shirt to get my attention while I was reading. I didn’t think much of it then, it was only a stretched out sleeve and a torn page. 

The second time was when we were at a bar. I put on my best outfit for him; tight skinny jeans that showed off every curve, paired with a loose tank top with an open back. I even layered my lips with gloss, smudged my eyes with liner, looking in the mirror and feeling proud -- Claude wasn’t. After gaining a few side-eyes while ordering some drinks, I was then yanked to the men’s bathroom to be shoved into a stall. It didn’t hurt much, but his eyes did. He grabbed my face with a strong grip, my glossy lips pursing and almost _ laughing _ because I think this is a joke. It had to be. He couldn’t be mad, right? _ You’re mine. _ He squeezed harder. _ No one gets to look at you but me. _ I was on my knees. _ Remember who you belong to, slut. _He spat on my face and rubbed it with toilet paper, but the only thing that stung were his words. We left right after, my eyes dripping shadows, the corners of my lips stained, and I let him fuck me until I couldn’t move. 

The third time he came home late from work, and I had cooked us vegetable fried rice. He was drunk, and I was upset. The kitchen was a mess, and he hated that. _ Why is the kitchen so fucking dirty? _ I lifted his bowl of food. _ I don’t like eggs, clean this shit up. _ I whined, said I would make him a bowl without eggs, I complained about how long I spent cooking, and he pushed me into the sink, dropping the bowl and letting it shatter. He told me to _ clean it up _ as he stalked off to his room. I stifled my cries with the sleeve of my shirt as I persuaded myself that he was just having a bad day. _ How dare you think you can fall asleep with water dripping from the kitchen sink, how dare you think you can fall asleep with all these little leaks in this home we built in our dreams? _

The fourth time was during an argument. He told me I had to stop hanging out with Alois, because he was too clingy, because we spent a lot of time together, because Claude didn’t like me to be with any other man but him. I told him no, I told him he couldn’t tell me who I can and can’t be friends with, and he threw his glasses off his face. Next thing I know, I’m being jerked by the arm and thrown to the coffee table, his palm pressing harshly into my cheek. _ Speak to me like that again, I dare you. _ I inhaled sharply, I told him to _ get the fuck off me _ , so he pulled me up by my hair. Even with tears in my eyes, I bared my teeth, _ he can’t do this to me _ , I thought, _ I love him too much. _

I began to lose count after the fifteenth time. It faded in and out like the bruises; I was chartreuse and weak for his love. I never saw the glass as half empty or half full, I just saw him. I would have let his entire being sit in the depths of my stomach until it exploded, I just wanted to be known by him. When we kissed, it was like a car crash on the edge of the Earth, and he told me he loved me. Everything was a stained glass variation of the truth, but I enshrined in it. So thread by thread, I came undone like gravity disappeared, and suddenly I wasn’t me. Surely, I must have deserved it. 

When he was really upset with me, he would lock me in the dark. He would give me the silent treatment. I felt like I truly didn’t exist. I was, instead, a crystal glass full of blood to spill, I absorbed the prints of my handler. Sometimes they were only blotches, others cracks, a few shattered into jagged little pieces, and I wonder if I am beyond repair. 

I never dodged any of his bullets, I only denied that they hit me. When my body was bleeding, I wouldn't admit that it hurt. He told me I looked ugly when I cry. 

My heart was hungry, so it ate the pain and the lies. I would bury myself in his arms that felt more like coffins than bedsheets. If I told him I loved him, he would reach out and touch me; he tasted like the ocean that I tried to drown myself in, I suffocated so he could breathe, but the only reason he breathed was to sleep through the night and the only reason he spoke was to tell me I was _ his. _

“I love when you keep your mouth shut.” 

I would flinch and object. He would tie me to the bed. 

“_Do not_,” Claude pressed a knee into my spine “presume to tell me what to do. Or have you forgotten your place? You are meant to stay pretty and agreeable at my side.” His eyes narrowed as he regarded my trembling body. “I am not opposed to forcibly imposing your silence.”   


A year and three months had passed and I stopped speaking with my friends, then my family. Claude’s aroma was like the devil but he felt like the lord, and I was forced to worship him on the marble he fucked me on. I burned down like a forest, drenched in cold gasoline as he left a trail of mint scented candles for me to follow. Cobwebs formed in my heart, I was utterly trapped. 

I heard a demon beckon for me, I reluctantly answered his call. Like a siren promising to fulfill desires, I showed up battered and hopeless. He took one look at me, reached into my chest, and told me I would be okay. His lips, full of rows upon rows of razor sharp canines, kissed my knuckles the way Claude’s would rip open my bones. A bellow in the chasm, a deafening silence, and a body of embers and death surrounded me. He told me he could help. 

In the beast's taloned hands, I’m always soft, trusting, willing; he could bend me backwards or hold me by the throat until I’m gasping, but I will find his mouth in the dark. He fills me with his breath and every pulse reminds me I am safe, _ I am safe, I am safe_. A cupful of blood and skin, a mouthful of it, _ right there, yes, that’s where I want it. _

When Claude Faustus died, I didn’t cry.

**Author's Note:**

> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1−800−799−7233 or TTY 1−800−787−3224


End file.
